


Born Stupid

by nikkithedead



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2018-12-30 04:46:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12101022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nikkithedead/pseuds/nikkithedead
Summary: In the summer of 1988, Eddie Kasprak would have to say that he was still pretty stupid, about a lot of things. Sure, he got decent grades and could tie his own shoes and get dressed on his own (despite what his mother seemed to think) but he didn’t mean about that kind of stuff. About the big stuff, the real Life stuff… he was just stupid.Most people would have figured it out right away, he thought. He had enough signs, enough clues. Still, until it was spelt out for him, right in front of his face, he just… didn’t get it.





	1. Part One: It

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is basically Eddie figuring out that he's gay, with the assistance of Beverly and Richie. I would like to note that although he refers to himself as "stupid" for not realizing, I DO NOT intend that to be a commentary on how people who don't immediately know their sexuality are stupid. That's just how Eddie thinks of it. Despite the discussions and language the Losers Club uses, this fic will NOT include any underage content, or depictions of things people shouldn't be depicting kids doing (I'm looking at you here, Stephen).

Looking back, Eddie would have characterized the main theme of his childhood as that of overwhelming stupidity. That sounded pretty negative, he supposed, but he didn’t mean it in a bad way. The way Eddie looked at it, people were just born stupid. When you’re a baby, you don’t know shit. You can’t talk or feed yourself, or do even simple maths. You’re just stupid. 

If people were born stupid, then growing up mostly became about learning new things. You learned to walk, to talk and feed and clothe yourself with your mom telling you that no, shorts and a tank top were  _ not  _ appropriate attire for a snow storm (well, most people did. Eddie’s mom would continue to have a say in his wardrobe for much of his adolescence, breaking into his teen years). 

But in the summer of 1988, Eddie Kasprak would have to say that he was still pretty stupid, about a lot of things. Sure, he got decent grades and could tie his own shoes and get dressed on his own (despite what his mother seemed to think) but he didn’t mean about that kind of stuff. About the big stuff, the real Life stuff… he was just stupid. 

Most people would have figured it out right away, he thought. He had enough signs, enough clues. Still, until it was spelt out for him, right in front of his face, he just… didn’t get it. 

It was that day at the barrens, that really made him think he might have been missing something. It had been fine at first--sure, the water had been cold and he thought he might have gotten a touch ill from it, not to mention he heard there could be leeches in the water and despite their supposed medicinal qualities, he has no desire to meet one... oh and he’d almost drowned. 

It had happened when he’d stepped down into deeper water and lost his bearings--for a moment, he’d kept himself up, kicking his legs beneath him--but then a voice in his head, his mother’s voice, began to screech “ _ Eddie! The water, you can’t swim! Eddie you’re going to  _ droooown!” 

Panic had seized him and his head had bobbed under and he’d been sure this was how he was going to die, all because he’d been stupid enough to ignore his mother and go into the deep water when he knew he couldn’t swim (except he  _ could swim,  _ was quite a strong swimmer actually). 

But then, salvation--a hand came out and grabbed his under the water, yanking him forward to where he could stand. His head came back up and he got his feet under him, and took a deep breath of air. Whipping his head around, he was surprised to find out who his savior had been. He had expected it to be Bill who had noticed, Bill who had grabbed him and pulled him back… but it was Richie. 

“You okay, Eds?” Richie asked. 

Eddie nodded, and coughed once. “Don’t… call me Eds.”

Richie grinned, and ruffled Eddie’s wet hair, making it stand on end. “He’s good.”

They resumed splashing around, getting up on each others shoulders and trying to knock the others over. And despite it all, it had been a good day. A great day, really. One of Eddie’s best. Even drowning hadn’t been so bad, and Richie hadn’t even made a big deal of out if it.  _ Poor fragile Eddie, he could have died, quick call the ambulance--  _ there was none of that. And he was grateful. 

The trouble came after they’d gotten out of the water, and were drying off. Beverly had lain down on the ground in a patch of sunlight, eyes closed as she let the warm air dry her off. That was when Eddie noticed the staring. Five pairs of eyes were locked onto the girl on the ground, staring so hard Eddie thought their eyeballs might pop out of their heads, like the way they always did on Sunday morning cartoons. 

Ben and Bill, Eddie wasn’t all too surprised about. They clearly both had some weird thing for her, which to him seemed too bad for Ben, because there was no way she was going to choose him over Bill. Nothing against Ben, he seemed like a nice guy and he had some fun idea about building a clubhouse to hang out in… but he just wasn’t Bill. 

So those two, that made sense. But it wasn’t just them staring. Even Stan was staring at her, his face flushed and his eyes wide like he was seeing one of the super rare birds he always talked about. Eddie actually looked around for a minute, to see if maybe there was some bird… but it was just Beverly. Hell, even Mike was staring, although he had the decency to only be half-staring, trying to pretend he wasn't. 

And then there was Richie, staring just as hard as anyone. His jaw was slack and his mouth was opened slightly--not unusual, but typically when his mouth was open either words were coming out or food was going in. Now he was just quiet, quiet and staring. 

Eddie stared too, partly so he didn’t feel left out and partly to try and see what everyone else was looking at. As far as he could tell, it was just Beverly. She was a pretty girl, he guessed, and she didn’t laugh at him like other girls… but none of it seemed worth losing your mind over. Besides, she was a smoker, that cigarette smoke irritated his asthma. 

After a moment, Bev looked up and the others all pretended they’d been doing something else. Richie mumbled something about the sun being bright, and Stan started babbling about some bird he’d thought he’d seen in the trees--but Eddie knew, there had been no bird. 

It troubled him more than it should have. Not the others staring, exactly, not even Richie… but the way he just didn’t feel like it. The way the others could look and Beverly, and look like they were learning all the secrets of the universe, and he could look at her at the same time and just his friend in her underpants. 

* * *

It was about a week before school would start, and Eddie was headed to the arcade to meet Richie and the others. He’d mostly managed to put the stuff about Bev behind him, except for the occasional gnawing worry that he was in some way broken. Maybe, he sometimes wondered, it was a vision problem. Should he have his eyes checked? When  _ was  _ the last time he’d been to the optometrist? It suddenly seemed much too long. He would get on that, soon. 

When he reached the arcade, he was surprised to find Richie, Ben, Stan and Mike outside the arcade, whispering. They looked up with almost guilty expressions when he came up to them, and then pulled him into the circle. 

“What’s going on? What’s happening, why are you guys being so weird?” Eddie asked, looking around at their flushed faces. 

“There’s a party going on tonight,” Richie explained. “At that abandoned house on Neibolt street.” 

Eddie wrinkled his nose. “My mom said that house is full of crackheads and lepers,” he said. “Why would people want to have a party there?”

Richie shrugged. “I heard the cops rounded up those crackheads last month, so the house is free now.” He said. “Besides, I’ve heard about kids going up to Neibolt street all the time,” he grinned. “That’s where they  _ do it, _ ” 

Eddie frowned. “Do what?”

Richie looked at him. “You know,” he raised his eyebrows. “ _ It. _ ” 

“Just because you say it again doesn’t mean I’m going to suddenly know what you’re talking about--”

Grabbing him by the shoulders, Richie pulled him forward. “ _ Fucking. _ ” He said, a bit too loudly. “It means  _ fucking! _ ” 

Eddie’s face turned red. “Oh. Well how was I supposed to know that?”

Richie shook his head and released Eddie’s shoulders. “Everyone knows that, numbnuts,” He muttered. “It’s a universally known truth.”

“Well, I mean clearly it isn’t if I didn’t know,” Eddie muttered. “And besides, who cares? It’s probably just going to be like, high school students or whatever.”

Stan was shaking his head. “Gretta Jenkins is going,” He said. “She told so, when I went with my mother to the drug store this morning. And,” he added. “She called me a pussy-licker,”

Eddie’s lip curled slightly. He didn’t know why Stan had felt it important to add that. 

“I heard a bunch of kids from our grade are going,” Ben was saying. “They were talking about it in the candy store. And you don’t need an invitation or anything, you can just.. Show up, and they can’t kick you out.” 

"They could probably still kick us out," Mike added. "Just because it isn't their house doesn't mean they can't give us the boot."

Eddie looked back and forth between Richie, Stan and Ben. “You guys don’t seriously want to go, do you? That house is probably covered in diseases and-and I mean what if the crack heads left needles lying around. You can get aids from used needles, you know, I read about it in--” 

“Eds!” Richie was once again holding him by his shoulders, shaking him. “No one is saying you have to go. Don’t give yourself an asthma attack. We can go without you.” 

That didn’t make him feel better. Not only would he be left out, again, the thought of Richie up in that disease infested crackhouse with some girl made him feel ill. 

“Go where?”

Eddie turned and found Bill and Beverly striding towards them. Beverly smiled widely as she met up with them, and Bill stuttered out a  _ hello.  _

“Neibolt street,” Richie explained. “There’s a party, tonight,”

A horrible thought occurred to Eddie then, a truly terrible half-formed idea; what if he went, and with Beverly… what if he could prove to himself and to everyone else that he wasn’t broken, wasn’t sick in some way--well, besides all the usual ways--

It was an awful idea, and he couldn’t even have said where it came from, but the worst part about it was how it was out of his mouth before he could even finish thinking it. 

“D’you wanna go?” He asked Beverly, the words pouring out of his mouth with no way to contain them. “With me? To the party?” 

Beverly looked surprised, but it was nothing compared to the look on Bill’s face; shock, confusion… betrayal? Shit, Eddie hadn’t even considered that, how Bill and Ben would feel. Well, Beverly was still her own person, she would probably say no anyhow--

“Sure,” Beverly said, pulling a cigarette out from behind her ear. She lit it and took a puff. “Sounds fun.”  
  
Eddie wanted to pass out, and not just because he couldn’t stand the smell of cigarette smoke. He was going to a party, in a crackhouse, with a girl. And he was gonna do…  _ it.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) I can't remember where the scene in the water takes place. Was it the barrens? We're calling it the barrens.  
> 2) I know Mike wasn't with them at that point, but this story is canon divergent so we're just saying he is.  
> 3) There are no evil clowns in this story, it's a "what if Derry was a normal non-evil town" AU.


	2. Part Two: Foolproof

The house at 29 Neibolt street was not a pretty sight to behold. Even in bright daylight it looked like something straight from a horror movie, with its peeling wooden walls and boarded up windows. Eddie had never seen it at night before, and as he stood across the street from it now, he realized that had been for the better. During the day, the house had always looked like something dead to him. The rotted corpse of the home it had once been, who knew how many life times ago. 

But at night, with kids passing in and out the front door that was its mouth and orange lights in the windows of its eyes, 29 Neibolt Street seemed alive. And now Eddie could say with absolute certainty that sometimes, dead was better.  

“Ready to get going?” Beverly asked, stubbing out a cigarette on the bottom of her shoe. She held out her hand to him, and he tried to keep his steady as he took it. She gave him a reassuring smile, and together they ventured forward into the house. 

Eddie had anticipated a lot about the inside of the house on Neibolt street, and as he went inside he tried to ignore the sense that he was not walking in, but instead being swallowed whole. The house was eating him alive, and soon all that would be left was his bones to be spat out onto the lawn. 

Inside the house smelt of rotted wood and burning hair, and Eddie tried to hold back a gag. The hairs were standing up on the back of his arms, and he had the sense that diseases were crawling over every inch of every surface. The voice in his head, the one that sounded much like his mother, was begging him to turn around.  _ Eddie, doooon’t! You’ll get cancer if you go inside, Eddie, stoooop…!  _

“We… we should probably find a room,” Eddie managed to get out, trying to speak over the noise in his head, as well as the blaring noise of the party. Beverly nodded, and pointed to the stairs. They looked old and rickety, worn out and warped like everything inside the house. Eddie didn’t trust them for a minute, but he’d come too far to back out now. He nodded. “Let’s go.”

The moved up the stairs and began to search for an empty room. Most were taken, and the first empty one they found turned out to be empty for a good reason; it was full of the most terrifying collection of clown dolls he had ever seen. Even Beverly, brave as she was, agreed that this was not the room for them.

Finally they found an empty room that had nothing more in it than an old rocking chair. They went inside and shut the door. It was quiet now, the noise of the surrounding party dimmed behind the rotted wood.

Beverly looked at him and stepped closer, and Eddie held his breath.   
  


* * *

Richie rushed down the street, a strange feeling in his chest like a hand gripping his heart. It had started out small, and minuscule sensation gnawing at the back of his mind. But as the night had gone on it had grown and grown until the feeling spread throughout his body, coursing through his veins like one of those diseases Eddie was always going on about. 

“Richie—” Stan panted, trying to keep up with him. “Slow down!” 

“Can’t, you slow down you die!” Richie called back.

“Richie, just stop for a minute, stop and think!” Stan shouted. He stopped running after him, and Richie was forced to slow to a stop and go see what Stan was bitching about. “This is a bad idea,” he said. Richie rolled his eyes. “What if we get caught?” 

“Stan, I told you a thousand times, we  _ won’t  _ get caught, our plan is—”

“ _ Your plan, _ ” Stan corrected.  

“Whatever, Stanley!” Richie said, waving his hand dismissively. “The plan, it’s foolproof.” 

“Foolproof?” Stan repeated. “You told your parents you were staying at my house, and made me tell my parents I was staying at yours. Which I only did because you said we were sneaking out to go try and spot the  _ c _ _ huck-will's-widow  _ in the forest!” 

“I mean, you practically can’t even blame me for that,” Richie said, adjusting his glasses. “That one’s on you, for believing me.”

“What if,” Stan said, in the quiet voice he always used when he was trying very hard to control his temper. “What if your parents call mine and ask about us?” 

Richie chuckled, and began to walk down the street again. “That’s a 10-10, good buddy,” Richie said, pretending to talk into a walkie-talkie, in his best cop-impression voice. 

Stan frowned. “A Traffic detail?” 

“What? No. 10-10 means negative.”

“No, 10-74 is negative, 10-10 is traffic detail.”

Richie stopped and stared at him. “What? You know what, forget it, never mind.” He resumed walking. “It’s just not going to happen, is my point. My parents don’t care enough to bother calling yours.”  

“Well  _ mine  _ care, and what if they call?” Stan asked, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Then my mom will say we’re upstairs, asleep, which is where she thinks we are.  _ And  _ she won’t bother checking, because like I said, she doesn’t care,” Richie continued, before Stan could interrupt. “And if she has like, a stroke or something and  _ does  _ check, then she’ll see the lumps of blankets under the covers that we left, and here the snoring playing on my stereo and think ‘they’re asleep’ and leave it at that.”

Stan glared at him. “Just because you’ve watched  _ Ferris Bueller’s Day Off  _ a few times doesn’t mean you’re going to get away with this,”

Richie said nothing, and turned the corner onto Neibolt street. Number 29 loomed depressingly in the distance. He slowed his pace and came to stop, staring at it. 

Stan stopped next to him, surveying him. “Just tell me, why is it so important that we go to this party?” 

For the second time, Richie was uncharacteristically silent. He knew what his reasons were, but he wasn’t sure what to tell Stan. “Eddie’s trying to do it with Beverley,” he said after a moment. “And when he chickens out, I want to be there.” Half a lie and part of the truth seemed like a good compromise.

Apparently Stan disagreed, and he was shaking his head disapprovingly. “That’s low, Richie.” He said. “Besides, what if he  _ doesn’t  _ chicken out?” 

There was no way Stan could have known, but that was the worst thing he could have possibly said. Richie adjusted his glasses, and looked at the house down the road. People were streaming in and out of the open front door, carrying bottles of beer and smoking, falling on each other with drunken, stoned laughter. 

This was not a place where Eddie should be. It wasn’t that he didn’t belong with these people, or didn’t have a right to be at this kind of party… it was more that it just didn’t fit. This party was drugs and sex and underaged drinking and Eddie… Eddie wore a fanny pack. He carried ibuprofen and antihistamines with him every where he went. He had asthma, and worried about his cholesterol and blood pressure. 

He didn’t fit into the picture, and Richie wouldn’t have wanted him to. Eddie was better than this. He deserved better than this. 

But even as he thought it, a part of him knew that wasn’t what had brought him here. So Eddie wanted to cut loose, get a little dirty for a change. As his friend, shouldn’t Richie have been cheering him on? 

Eddie had enough people in his life trying to hold him back, keep him safe and protected. His mother wanted him bubbled, kept away from the harsh realities of life and she would use illness and fragility as his cage. Eddie was made of flesh and blood and bone, but his mother would have treated like glass. Richie didn’t want to be another person in Eddie’s life like that. 

_ Then what was he doing here?  _

“Richie...” Stan was saying, peering closely at him. “You’ve been quiet for a solid five minutes now, which I think is a personal record. Are you alright?” 

“Yeah,” Richie mumbled. He tried to snap out of it. “I was just thinking about… doing your mom...” he ran his fingers through his hair, putting no effort into the jest. “That’s what I was thinking about.” 

Stan did not look impressed. “Richie, just come out and say it,” Stan said. “You’re jealous.” 

Richie’s eyes went wide and he all but jumped backwards. “What?!” he shouted, feeling panic rise in his veins. “Jealous of Beverly? Yeah, right. That’s the day… no sir, what the fuck.” 

Frowning, Stan said “I mean jealous of Eddie… “ Confusion, and then a sudden look of realization came onto to Stan’s face. Well, that was too bad. Richie was clearly going to have to beat him to death with his own shoe now, there was no way around it. Sorry Stan, you’ve been a good friend. 

“You—!” Stan covered his mouth and looked around, then leaned in closely. “ _ You like Eddie? _ ” 

“You shut the fuck up, bird boy,” Richie snapped, pointing a finger in Stan’s face. “I didn’t say nothin’ and you have no proof.”

A strange smile came onto Stan’s face, and Richie could not understand why he looked so pleased about this. Clearly, it was terrible. Eddie was obviously terrible, aside from being better than almost everyone else Richie knew, so really this situation was the most terrible it could have been. 

“Richie, that’s wonderful,” Stan said, pulling him in for a hug. Richie shoved him off, and once again considered his plan with the shoe. “Have you told him?”

“Yes, Stan, that’s why I’m about to go cock-block the dumb motherfucker,” Richie muttered, turning away. “Because I’ve been handling this in a mature and rational way.” 

Again, the stupid grin. “That would be a first,” he said, suddenly having recovered his sense of humour. “So what do we do?” 

Richie looked at him. “You’re really okay with this? Aren’t you like… religious? Don’t you think I’m going to hell?”

Stan shook his head. “Well, firstly we don’t really have a concept of Hell in Judaism, it’s more like… a great cosmic washing machine.”  Stan explained. “And second, my Dad says that who a person loves is never a reason to condemn them.” 

“Oh,” Richie said. His brow furrowed. “Great cosmic washing machine?” 

Stan shrugged. “It’s more complicated than that, but that was generally my understanding of the system.” 

“Oh,” Richie repeated. This was turning out to be the strangest night of his life, and they hadn’t even reached the party yet. “I guess we should probably go in.”

They both turned to face the house. “So what’s your plan for when we find them?” Stan asked. 

“Pull Beverly off of him and remind him that girls have cooties?” Richie suggested. 

Stan nodded. “Foolproof.” 

Together they strode forwards, towards the house at 29 Neibolt street, and all of the terrifying horrors that were held inside. 


	3. Part Three: Mistakes

Stepping backwards from Beverly, Eddie could hear his heart beating loudly in his chest. This was, surely, a sign of some infectious disease which had taken hold of him, and was at this moment killing him slowly. His palms felt sweaty and he could feel his shoulders shaking--he couldn’t identify what the symptoms all meant, but he was positive it would be fatal.

Beverly looked at him quizzically, not appearing offended. “Can I ask you something, Eddie?” Beverly asked. “Why’d you ask me to this party?”

Eddie stared at her. “Because… it was… it was because...” He suddenly could not recall his reason, or if he’d ever even had one. In the back of his mind he could see Richie’s face, mouth open, staring at Beverly that day in the barrens. It had hurt him, and not just because he felt left out. Why did it hurt so much?

Beverly glanced away. “It wasn’t because of those rumours, was it?” She asked quietly. Eddie had never heard her voice so soft before. Almost as if she was afraid of the answer. 

“Huh? What rumours?” Eddie asked, confused.

Beverly rolled her eyes. “People talk, Eddie,” she said. “I know they do. They say things about me, about things I’ve done—” she looked up sharply. “I  _ haven’t  _ done those things.”

Of course, she was right. Eddie had heard those rumours, although he hadn’t ever thought about them in relation to Beverly as his friend. He’d heard them before he’d known her, talk of some girl named Beverly Marsh doing it with the entire football team or whatever. He hadn’t paid much attention to it then, and when he’d become friends with Bev, it hadn’t even occurred to him that she was who they were talking about. 

“Beverly, that’s not—it’s got nothing to do with that,” Eddie rushed to explain. “I swear,” he said, crossing his heart. 

Beverly nodded. “I believe you,” she said. “But why, then? I mean, honestly it never really seemed like you were interested in me before. As a friend, I mean. We’ve never even really hung out before.”

Eddie considered her question, but knew almost immediately that this had nothing to do with her. It had seemed to start with her, that day at the barrens... but Eddie knew, this wasn’t just about that day. 

It was more than that, deeper than that. It was every time his friends talked about girls, either the ones in the school or the ones they’d seen in movies, and he just nodded along with no real idea what they were saying. It was that out of place, dizzy feeling he got every time Richie made some crack about doing  _ it _ with a girl. Eddie knew it was just talk, but he also knew that one day… it wouldn’t be. One day it would be real.

He hated that feeling, that he was missing something. It was as if the whole world was in on some inside joke that he didn’t know the meaning off. And everyone was laughing, and he was just standing there full of confusion, trying to pretend he got it but knowing he didn’t. And sometimes, it felt like everyone else knew too.

When he’d heard about the party, when Richie said he was going… something had snapped. He refused to be left out any longer, refused to be different anymore. This nameless feeling in his chest, this strange otherness he felt… he didn’t know what it was, but it scared him. It was just…  _ it.  _ All of it. The jokes, the staring, the possibility that he would be left behind as everyone else discovered something he just couldn’t understand. It was the idea that he was in some way, broken. Different. Sick.

_ It,  _ whatever it was, was mocking him. Taunting him. Telling him to be afraid.

And in that moment when he’d asked Beverly to the party, he had refused to fear it any longer.

Except now here was, alone with Beverly in a sexhouse crackdungeon… and he knew, beyond a doubt, that he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t do  _ it.  _ Not here, not now. Not with Beverly.

There was a sad sort of loneliness in that realization. A different sort of loneliness from the kind of felt when his mother kept him home from school for days straight, and he couldn’t see his friends. He missed them then, missed Richie’s jokes and Stan’s disapproving side glances… but this was different. It was older, more profound. He wondered, perhaps, if he would be alone forever.

He wished Richie was here. Surely if he was, he would just laugh at him, tease him… call him a weirdo, or worse. Still, he wished he was there. Richie was a real ham most of the time, but when it came down to it, he was a good friend. He cared, and despite the teasing and taunting, he always knew how to cheer Eddie up. 

Eddie looked at her, and gave the answer that came closest to the truth: “I don’t know,” he said. Beverly raised her eyebrows. “But... why did _you_ say yes?” 

Beverly shrugged, glancing around the room. “I don’t know,” she echoed. “I guess… curiosity, maybe? I mean, according to the rumours I’ve been up here about a hundred times with a hundred different guys… maybe I just wanted to see what it was I was supposedly doing.” She walked over to the rotted wooden wall and sat down on the floor, leaning back against the wall. “It’s funny, when you have people saying you did stuff you didn’t do. Sometimes you start to wonder if that’s really who you are, and somehow they just know even better than you do.”

Eddie nodded, even though he doubted anyone outside of his group of friends at school even knew his name, let alone were gossiping about him behind his back. He took a seat next to Beverly. “Don’t listen to them, Bev,” He said. “You’re great. People at school are just a bunch of idiots.” 

Beverly smiled at him. “Thanks, Eddie,” she said, giving him a small kiss on the cheek. Eddie resisted the urge to wipe it off, not liking the sensation. He wondered if that would offend her. It seemed likely, and he he decided not to find out. 

Taking a deep breath, Eddie decided to be honest with her. “I can’t do it,” He said, very quickly. He looked away, his face turning red. “I just can’t.”

“Do what?” Beverly asked, sounding confused. 

“You know,” Eddie mumbled. “ _ It. _ ”

A pause, and then laughter. Eddie looked up, surprised. “We were never gonna do it,” Beverly said, shaking her head. “Seriously, Eddie, come on. I’m not even 12 yet.”

Eddie stared at her, shocked. “But.. why’d you say you’d come to the party with me then?” He asked. 

“I said I’d go to the party with you,” Beverly said. “I don’t remember agreeing to anything else.”

“I guess that’s true,” Eddie tapped his fingers against his lip. They hadn’t ever actually discussed doing anything besides going to 29 Neibolt street together. “Why are we up here alone then?”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’d rather be down there, with all the idiots?” She asked. He shook his head. “Me neither.”

A great sense of relief flooded Eddie’s body, and in that moment he could have hugged Beverly. “Besides,” she was saying. “Even if I had wanted to do it--which I am really not ready to do right now--it was pretty clear you didn’t.”

Eddie frowned. “Clear? How was it--what do you mean it was clear?”

“Eddie, you were trembling,” Beverly said. “You looked like you wanted to cry.”

Eddie considered this, and wondered what the odds of the floor opening up and actually swallowing him whole were. They seemed quite slim, because for as terrifying as 29 Neibolt Street was, the house didn’t seem to be anything more than an regular, fairly gross, house. That was disappointing. Being murdered would have been wonderful at the moment. 

“I was not going to cry,” Eddie lied. 

Beverly gave him a small smile. “I won’t tell anyone. We can tell everyone else that I chickened out.” She said. “Who knows, maybe it will help my reputation.”

Eddie put his head in his hands. “They’ll know it was me,” He muttered. “Richie… Richie will know. And then he’ll figure it out, that there’s something… wrong, with me.”

“What do you mean?” She asked. “What’s wrong with you?” 

Eddie sighed deeply, and pulled his inhaler out of his pocket and took a puff. He held in the medication for a moment and then let out his breath in a slow stream. “I don’t… I don’t know. It’s just… I’m different, I think. Maybe I’m sick or something.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I’ve never even had a crush on anyone,” he said. “Richie and Bill and Stan, they get crushes on girls all the time. Not me though.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re sick, Eddie. I mean, maybe you’re just not into that kinda thing. There’s nothing wrong with that.” Beverly said.  
  
“Thanks, but I don’t believe you,” Eddie mumbled, looking away. Beverly was just trying to be nice, that was all. He would have said the same thing to himself, but he wouldn’t have believed it. “I just… I hate feeling so left out. Like everyone else in the whole world knows something I don’t.” He looked over at Beverly. “What _does_ a crush feel like?” He asked. 

The question seemed to take Beverly by surprise. “A crush?” She thought about it, and then after a moment she smiled. Eddie wondered who she was thinking of. “It feels… pretty stupid, actually. Like, you forget everything you know and you’re just this big dumb, smiling idiot. And you can’t think about anything else, and if you could you wouldn’t want to. They’re the only thing in your head, and even if it makes you stupid, you’re sort of okay with that.” 

She looked at him, and the smile slipped off her face. “You’ve never had something like that?” She asked. Eddie shrugged. “That sort of thing where you just… you just want to see someone, all the time? And you don’t get sick of them when they’re around, even if they’re being annoying or weird. You just want to see them, and talk to them and let them tell you about the things they think about.”

Eddie frowned. What Beverly was saying didn’t sound completely foreign to him. “What else?” he asked. 

“When stuff happens, they’re the one you want to tell about it,” Beverly went on. “Like, when something good happens you want to share it with them, and when it’s bad you want them to be the one to comfort you. And it’s not like… you don’t have to make an effort around them. You can just… hang out. Be comfortable, ‘cause you know they’ll still like you, even if you show them everything you really are.”

Eddie nodded, still frowning. Someone he always wanted to be around, someone he could be himself with. That sounded easy enough to find. In fact, something made him suspect he may have already had that.   
  


* * *

Inside, 29 Neibolt Street was a mess. People were everywhere, and there was music coming from at least two different sources: one was playing some angry rock music that sounded more like screaming than anything else, and the other was playing  _ 99 Luftballons.  _ The combination was very disorienting. 

“I immediately regret helping you with this,” Stan shouted over the noise. “This is madness!” 

Richie shrugged, although he did partly agree. While he was partial to chaos, this was a little much for even him. The house stank of weed and rotted wood, and the air was heavy with smoke. 

“We just need to find Eddie and get the hell out of here,” Richie said, making his way to the stairs. Stan followed, squeezing his way through the crowd. 

“Can’t we just cup our hands over our mouths and shout that the drug store is having a two-for-one sale on disinfectant?” Stan asked. Richie ignored him. “Or what about ‘Pretty in Pink is getting a sequel, where Andie winds up with Duckie instead of Blane.’’” 

Richie shook his head, although if there was any way Eddie could have heard them he thought the latter might have worked. Eddie had really hated that ending.  _ Duckie was there for her the whole time, and she just didn’t realize it! He would have done anything for her, and she just ignored him…!  _

They’d all watched that movie together, him and Stan and Eddie and Bill. Bill’d had the least criticisms; he loved Molly Ringwald, and thought John Hughes made some great movies. Eddie hated the ending with a small passion, and Stan couldn’t stand what Andie had done to those two pink dresses she’d cut up at the end.  _ Her friend  _ leant  _ her that dress to wear to prom, not butcher it! She took two perfectly nice dresses and turned them into an ugly pink sack…  _

Personally, Richie didn’t give a fuck about the damn dress, but overall didn’t mind the ending. Molly Ringwald didn’t deserve Duckie. He loved her, but she clearly didn’t give a shit about him. Duckie needed to end that movie with his dignity, not some redheaded chick. Andie and Blane deserved each other. 

Riche would have gone to an early grave before he admitted it, but it was days like that he really lived for. It had been rainy all day, storming outside and they’d just stayed in front of Richie’s television and watched movies and ate junk food. It wasn’t anything special, but to Richie it meant the world.

His parents tended not to pay the most attention to him, being busy with the jobs and whatever the hell house they were doing with their lives besides raising him. Their guidance counselor, Mr. Fitzpatrick (who was also the math teacher) liked to say that this was why Richie acted out the way he did; it was a cry for attention. 

While Richie’s usual response to this was to make farting sounds with his underarm, he knew deep down that Mr. Fitzpatrick was probably right. So on days when it was just him and his friends, the little group of losers and misfits they’d cobbled together, even if they weren’t doing anything much in particular… yeah, it meant a lot to him. Because it was times like that they didn’t feel like they were just a bunch of friends hanging out. 

It felt like they were his family. 

The upstairs of the house was somehow even dirtier and more disgusting than the downstairs. There looked like about a hundred doors leading off from the winding hallway, and Richie tried to best determine which one Eddie was most likely to be behind. 

“How could Eddie stand to be here?” Stan asked, speaking at a normal volume now that they were further away from the noise. “It’s disgusting. He must be freaking out.” 

“All the more reason to find him,” Richie said, yanking open a door. He was met with a screeching noise and someone chucked something hard at his head. Apparently, that room was occupied. Richie closed the door, trying to fight off a grin. “Sure hope they’re using protection,” he said, rubbing his head. 

Stan made a disturbed face, and turned away. 

It went on like that for a while, Richie pulling open doors and finding people in various states of undress, screaming at him to get the hell out. A few more threw things at him, but he began to get pretty good at dodging them. 

He wondered, as he searched for him, what it was that had snapped in Eddie’s mind to make him want to come to a place like this, with Beverly. It didn’t make any sense. This place was disgusting, and from what he’d seen, the people here were doing disgusting things. 

Was it Beverly? Had Eddie been secretly harbouring a burning crush on her this entire time, and not told him? If he had been, he’d played it off really well. Richie hadn’t even known he’d cared about Beverly as a person, let alone a romantic interest. 

It hurt him, to think of Beverly and Eddie together, even holding hands or kissing, let alone what they might have been doing at that very moment. But strangely, even more than that it hurt that Eddie might have hidden something from him. 

Eddie was the person he felt like he could tell everything to. Even things that embarrassed him that he wanted to hide from the world, he could tell to Eddie. And he thought Eddie told him everything back, but clearly there was a whole world of information Richie didn’t know. 

Down the hall, some girl was offering Stan a toke from her joint. “Sure you don’t want?” She asked, taking a puff and blowing it in his face. 

Stan shook his head, his face beet red. “No, no I can’t,” He said, coughing. “I don’t like substances that alter my mind, really—once at a Passover Seder, my Dad let me have some Manischewitz wine and let me tell you—” He laughed awkwardly. “Won’t be doing that again.” 

The girl stared at him. “Whatever,” she said, walking away. 

Richie grinned at him as he hurried back over. “I think she liked you,” he teased. Stan glared at him. “No, really, I’m seeing a future. Marriage, kids, the whole package.” 

“Let’s just find Eddie and then get out of this hell hole,” Stan muttered. He yanked open a door, and then slammed it again almost immediately. 

“What, what’d you see?” Richie asked, leaning forward. “Was it worse than people doing it in the clown room, ‘cause that was pretty messed up...” 

Stan stared at him, eyes wide and mouth a thin what line. “It was them,” He hissed. “Beverly and Eddie.” He pointed to the door. “ _ They’re in there. _ ”

“Then why’d you close the door, dinkus?” Richie asked. 

Stan shrugged. “Panic reflex?”

Richie rolled his eyes, and went to open the door himself. He put his hand on the knob, but before he could open it, the door was wrenched out of his hand as Beverly threw it open from the inside. Losing his footing, Richie stumbled forwards and crashed into the room face first. He groaned, and rolled onto his back. Today was not going his way. 

Lying on the dirty floor of 29 Neibolt street, staring up at the crumbling ceiling above him, Richie had a realization:  _ this had been a bad idea.  _ But it was too late. Eddie’s face came into view above him, full of concern and confusion. He could hear him speaking as if he was far away, words echoing in his head. 

“Richie? What’re you doing here?”

Richie did not have an answer.   
  



	4. Part Four: Stupid

Richie stared up at Eddie and Eddie stared down at him.   
  
"Uh, whoops, this isn't the proctologists office," Richie said, already regretting the words as they left his mouth. _Why the proctologist?_ Getting to his feet, Richie dearly wished he had thought to pick any other type of doctor.   
  
Eddie didn't say a word.    
  
"What are you guys doing here?" Beverly asked. "I didn't think anyone else was coming." She looked at Stan, who looked at Richie, who as usual responded with the very first thing that popped into his brain.   
  
"Stan's in love with you, Beverly!" Richie shouted. He couldn't tell who looked more surprised about this, Beverly or Stan, "He just couldn't stand the thought of you in the arms of another man."   
  
"Oh," Beverly said, rubbing the back off her head. "That's... unexpected."   
  
"Isn't it just?" Stan said through a tight lipped smile.   
  
Beverly went over to Stan and put a hand on his shoulder. "Stan, I think we should talk," she said softly. "Just us."   
  
Glaring over his shoulder at Richie, Stan allowed himself to be led from the room.   
  
Despite knowing Stan was going to murder him later, he grinned. "I think Stan the Man is getting rejected," He snickered. Yeah, he was a dead man.   
  
Turning around, Richie saw Eddie glaring at him. "Alright, what's going on?" He demanded. "Stan's in love with Beverly? Since when? Spill it, Trashmouth." He put his hands on his hips, trying to look as tough as it was possible to look while wearing a fanny pack.   
  
About a hundred ways to joke his way out of the situation came to mind, along with the very appealing option of just booking it out of the room, leaving the country and changing his name. He would become a circus clown, and travel the world with a small carnival, living a free life on the road. Like all of his plans, it was foolproof.    
  
Adjusting his glasses, Richie decided that maybe that wasn't the way to win Eddie over. Possibly. "I... I was concerned," He admitted. "About you and Beverly."    
  
Eddie frowned. " _You_ were _concerned_ ?" Eddie sounded shocked.   
  
Richie felt somewhat offended by the implications of Eddie's tone. "I'm concerned sometimes!" He protested. "I am a highly empathetic person I'll have you know."   
  
Eddie looked dubious about this fact. "Concerned about what exactly?"   
  
Richie glanced away. "You know... You and Bev... And _it_."

Eddie’s cheeks turned pink. “That's not any--you should mind your own business!” He said, looking flustered. “You don't even… That's not your business.” He turned away, crossing his arms. Richie stared at him, confused. Eddie was quiet for a moment. When he finally did speak, it was so quietly that Richie couldn't hear a word he said.

“Huh?” Richie said. “What’d you s--”

“I said we didn't do it,” Eddie snapped, the pink in his checks deepening to a dark red.

“It was too… I just couldn't. I don't know why, I just… I can't.”

Richie looked at him, unsure what to say. Eddie’s face was bright red now, and he looked so terribly unhappy, so frustrated and upset. Richie wanted to go to him, pull the kid into his arms and squeeze him until he was happy again, or at least so annoyed that he forgot how unhappy he was.

Instead, what he did was burst out into a fit of laughter. It wasn't that he was laughing at Eddie--although Eddie surely thought he was--it was the situation that was funny. Only moments ago it had seemed so dire, him and Stan rushing their guts out to stop Eddie and Bev, and it turned out they were never going to do anything in the first place. And now he'd gone and put himself in this position, for no damn reason.

It was just so terrible, he had to laugh.

“Oh, fuck you Richie,” Eddie muttered, turning away. Richie thought he saw a tear rolling down his cheek and the laughter died away. “Asshole...”

“Hey, wait wait wait,” Richie rushed to explain. He grabbed Eddie's wrist, and Eddie turned around again, his eyes red. “I wasn't laughing at you, Eddie, I swear.”

Eddie glared at him. “Uh-huh like I fucking believe that,” He sniffed. “And I'm not crying… It's just that it's dusty in here and my allergies are acting up.”

“Nah, you’re crying,” Richie said, wiping the tears off Eddie’s cheek with the pad of his thumb. “You don't have to lie about it.” Eddie looked at him suspiciously. “I swear I wasn't laughing at you, ok? I was laughing at me,”

“What’d you do?” Eddie asked.

Richie looked away. “Uh.. I did your mom.” He muttered, mentally kicking himself in the face. _Why couldn't he do this?_

Eddie was pulling away again, but Richie tugged him back, “Fuck, shit--no! I didn't.. That's not what I meant to say. I meant to say I was laughing at me, because I rushed like crazy to get over here to stop you and Beverly, and I made Stan come with and lied to Bev about him loving her and now he's going to murder me.. And it was all for nothing, because you weren't even gonna do it in the first place.”

The tears has ceased now, and Eddie’s face was returning to its normal pale colour. “I don't get it, why'd you care?” He asked. “You don't… You're not really the one who's in love with Beverly are you? Because I mean, if you are—you know, there’s a line up. Ben and-and Bill—”

“I’m not in love with Beverly,” Richie interrupted. “Why would I be in love with Beverly?”

“Well, ‘cause that day—in the Quarry, you were staring at her,” Eddie said. “You all were, when she was drying off. You stared at her.”

Richie blinked, trying to remember what Eddie was talking about. He remembered the day at the Quarry, that had been a blast—aside from Eddie almost drowning—but he wasn’t sure what Eddie was talking about. Sure, he’d stared at Bev, for christ sake the girl had been in her underwear—and you couldn’t even really _see_ anything, but it was still more nudity than Richie had ever seen outside of some very filthy magazines—but he hadn't stared like he was in _love_ with the girl. “I mean, I guess I stared...” He said slowly. “She was in her underwear, Eddie. She’s got tits, I’m a guy, cut me some slack...”

Eddie’s mouth scrunched up really small, like he’d sucked a very sour lemon. Apparently whatever Richie'd said had, as usual, been the wrong thing. He opened his mouth again, but then closed it and turned away. Richie saw his hands bunching up into fists at his sides.

“I don’t care about Bev’s tits!” Eddie said, somewhat louder than Richie thought he should have. He hoped Beverly couldn’t hear that.

Richie had to fight back a laugh at that, knowing Eddie wouldn’t appreciate it. Still, it was hard not to smile. “What?”

Eddie’s face was pink again. “I said,” he began slowly, turning back around. “When Bev was in her underwear, I didn’t— I mean, what’s the big deal? We were _all_ in our underwear. What’s so special about her, just because she has like, I don’t know, weird lumps of fat on her chest?”

 _Weird lumps of—_ ”By George I think he’s lost it,” Richie muttered, in a terrible British accent.

“Quit being British, Richie, I’m trying to have a serious conversation here!” Eddie fumed. “Can’t you just be you, for once?”

Richie adjusted his glasses, avoiding look at Eddie.  _Now why would he want to go and do that?_

Eddie sighed. “There’s something wrong with me, Richie,” he said. Richie looked up at him, unsure what he meant. “I don’t, I’m just different or something. You and Bill and Stan and everyone, you look and Bev and girls like her and see like… I don’t know. Something important. Something amazing. And I just see… Bev. I don’t get all gushy around her, I don’t think about her all the time and I don’t really care about seeing her in her underwear.” He took a deep breath. “I just don’t…”

“Well, that’s okay,” Richie said, stepping towards him. “You don’t need to like Beverly. I mean, I don’t like her—I guess she’s my friend, and yeah she’s not too bad to look at but, I’m not like Ben and Bill. I’m not drawing _Mr. Richie Marsh_ all over my notebooks or anything,”

Eddie was shaking his head. “No, it’s different. You like girls, you’ve got a thousand gross girly magazines stashed under your bed. You’re always talking about fucking women, and-and shit.”

“Those are jokes, Eddie, come on you make those jokes too—!”

“But that’s the thing!” Eddie cried. “ _I’m just joking,_ I don’t really want to do that stuff—you do, and everyone else does! But me… I don’t. And I feel like-like I’m the only one. Like in the whole world, I’m just alone and a freak and I’ll be alone and freakish forever.”

Richie smiled, and Eddie looked like he could have slapped him. “So you’re just figuring it out now?” Richie asked, pushing his glasses up on his nose.

“Just figuring _what_ out?”

“You’re just figuring it out now,” Richie went on. “That there’s no one else in the world like you?”

Eddie opened his mouth again, then closed it and frowned. He looked confused. “Huh? Wait, what? I don’t—that’s not what I was saying. What do you—”

“Eddie, can you just stop for a second?” Richie asked. He was sick of talking, sick of listening to Eddie go on about how he was broken, or a freak. He wasn’t a freak, neither of them were. Richie knew that, deep down like a fact. People would tell them they were, he was sure they would… but they would be wrong. And Richie would make sure they knew that. And he would make sure Eddie knew it too. “Just stop talking for a minute.”

“Why?” Eddie asked, his voice suddenly quiet.

“‘Cause I want to kiss you,” Richie said. “And it’ll be hard with your mouth flapping like that.”

Eddie stared at him, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly open. Richie wondered if he was in shock. Would it be rude to kiss him, if he’d gone into shock? Probably… that wouldn’t be right. That would just be so typical, too, for Eddie. Here Richie was trying to do some romantic shit  and he had to go and tap the fuck out…

Richie realized Eddie had said something, but once again he’d spoken so quietly Richie had missed it. “Huh?” Richie asked. “What’d you—

Quite suddenly, Richie found himself cut off by Eddie’s mouth pressed against his. His eyebrows shot up in surprise, and for a moment he just floundered, suddenly completely unsure of what to do with his hands, or face, or entire fucking existence. Eddie Kaspbrak was kissing him, and suddenly Richie’s mind was blank as the day he’d been born. He was absolutely, utterly and entirely stupid.

Eddie pulled back, quickly, and looked at Richie with a flushed face. “I said okay,” Eddie said, slightly breathless.

Richie swallowed. “I put that together from context...” he said slowly. He looked at Eddie, and a smile spread across his face. “You call that a kiss, Eds?” He teased. “I’ll show you a kiss,” He pulled Eddie towards him by the front of his shirt, pressing his lips to Eddie’s before Eddie had time to tell him not to call him Eds.

* * *

Eddie wasn’t sure how long he stood there, mouth sealed against Richie’s like velcro. He hadn’t a fucking clue what he was supposed to be doing, but at some point Richie put his arms around him and suddenly it really didn’t seem to matter. Was this what he’d been running away from, this whole time? This feeling in his chest, the light fluttering feeling like maybe he was about to float away… because it wasn’t so bad.

Of all the places he had expected this night to go, this had most certainly not been one of them. He’d gone with Beverly to 29 Neibolt Street to prove to himself and everyone else that he wasn’t broken, or a freak or something. And now the truth was out there, smacking him in the face with the obviousness of it all—the reason he didn’t care about Bev in her underpants, the reason he spent all of his time chasing after Bill and Richie instead of chasing girls.

The answer had been there the entire time, staring out at him from behind Richie’s bespeckled face. And he didn’t know what it meant, didn’t know if it made him a freak or not… but standing there, feeling Richie’s arms around him and his mouth curved into a smile as he kissed him… he knew that no matter what the answer was, he’d been dead wrong about one thing: he was not alone. He never had been.

_“You can’t think about anything else, and if you could you wouldn’t want to. They’re the only thing in your head, and even if it makes you stupid, you’re sort of okay with that.”_

Eddie knew what Beverly had meant now, when she’d spoken about crushes making you stupid. It was Richie, and it always had been. The person he wanted to see all the time, the one who he didn’t get sick of, even when he was being annoying and weird. When something good happened, it was Richie he wanted to share it with. When it was bad, Richie was already there, letting Eddie sob onto his shoulder, telling him stupid jokes until it didn’t all seem so bad anymore. When he was with Richie he was comfortable, because he knew he would still like him, even when Richie saw who he really was.

It lasted forever, that first kiss, and at the same time it was over in an instance. Richie was pulling back, adjusting his glasses and muttering something about saving Stan from Beverly. But Eddie wasn’t finished, wasn’t anywhere close to finished. He looked at Richie, feeling somewhat frightened. When they left, would this leave with them? Or would it stay here forever, left to rot alongside the rest of the forgotten relics and decaying architecture at 29 Neibolt.

“RIchie, what happens now?” Eddie asked, pulling on the hem of his shirt, tugging him back over. “What do we do now?”

Richie looked at him. “I was thinking milkshakes, at King’s Soda’s,” Richie said simply. “I mean, it’s closed now, but maybe tomorrow. Seems like a good place for a date.” Richie grinned. “Your treat.”

Eddie turned the words over in his head. “A date?” He asked. “Just the two of us?”

Richie considered this. “We could invite Stan,” he said slowly. “But I think he might feel just a bit weird about it.”

“Shut up, I didn’t mean—I just meant—” Eddie shook his head, trying to get his thoughts on straight. “What I mean is…”

Richie put his hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “You okay, Kasprak?” He asked, feigning concern. “Everything alright in the old noggin?”

Eddie nodded, breathing in slowly. “Yeah,” he said. “I guess I’m just being stupid.” He smiled, thinking that he was actually being very stupid, and that Beverly had been right, because he didn’t mind at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who read this fic, commented, left kudos, reblogged or liked it on tumblr. I know it seems like a small thing, but it always means a lot to me. I hope you all enjoyed this story, and will continue to enjoy the IT stories I have planned for the future. If there's enough interest, I may add an epilogue to this story. I probably will. 
> 
> A few things, as I have now just watched the movie for the second time and need to make some addendums: 
> 
> -The scene where the Losers are in the water takes place at the Quarry, not the Barrens. Which makes sense, since the Barrens are… more bare.  
> -The movie takes place in the summer of 89, not 88.  
> -The kids are 13 years old, not 11 like in the books. Which makes more sense, really.  
> -Richie is known for his non stop talking, but I swear to god Eddie does way more babbling than anyone.  
> -Gretta’s last name is Keene, not Jenkins. Her dad is the pharmacist, whose last name is Keene. I was not 100% sure of this on my first viewing, but the second time around she definitely calls him Dad.


	5. Epilogue

“And that’s why I honestly think you and I are better off as friends,” Beverly finished. Stan nodded, trying to look appropriately sober. Beverly had given a very honest, touching speech about their friendship and the value of not doing anything to jeopardize it, and although Stan appreciated the sentiment, he wasn’t really listening.  

Instead, he was thinking about all of the different ways he was going to murder Richie, when he saw him. Richie had thrown him under the bus so avoid confessing his feelings to Eddie, he had dragged him out into the night and he had brought him to crackhouse sex-den. All of that, Stan could forgive. That was just par for the course as Richie’s best friend. But what he couldn’t forgive was that to get him to come out with him tonight, he had _lied_ about bird-watching.  

_Let’s go see if we can spot the chuck-will's-widow, Stanley,_ Richie had said and like an idiot, Stan had believed him. Should he have known better, after all this time? Probably, but that was hardly the point. And now Stan was fed up. _Hello, this is Officer Uris reporting in, I’m at the scene of a 187, which I just personally committed,_ Stan thought, doing his best mental impression of Richie’s cop impression.  

The door opened, and Stan and Beverly stood up as Richie and Eddie excited the room. Stan could tell immediately that something had happened; Eddie was trying not to smile and Richie’s cheeks were tinged red. All plans of homicide were momentarily forgotten. 

“Well?” Stan asked, looking between the two of them.

Eddie shrugged, and scratched the back of his head, looking away. He was fighting to keep the smile off his face, and it was a losing battle. 

“Well what, Stanley?” Richie asked, his voice even louder than usual. “There’s nothing to well, we’ve just been waiting for Bev to let you down easy. That’s the polite thing to—”

“We kissed!” Eddie blurted, apparently unable to contain it any longer. “He kissed me—I kissed him. I mean, we both kissed each other. I thought it would be gross, because Richie has like a ton of germs but it wasn’t and I want to do it again.”

Eddie smiled as Richie stared at him in disbelief. “Seriously, not even two second of discretion?” He asked.

Eddie shrugged. “I’m not good at secrets. My mom, she says secrets are mental poison, y’know. They rot away your brain, it’s true.”

“Your mom just told you that so you wouldn’t lie to her about shit,” Richie told him.

Eddie opened his mouth, seemed to consider this, and frowned. “...Oh shit.” he said quietly. He shook his head. “Whatever, it practically didn’t work. I lie to her all the time, I just feel bad about it.”

“Wait, wait—” Beverly said, stepping between them. “You two kissed?” She asked. Richie shrugged. A look came over Beverly’s face, and for a moment Stan wondered if it was possible she’d have a problem with that. “That’s why you two came here tonight? For Eddie...” She looked back at Stan. “You aren’t really in love with me, are you?” She asked.

“Uh...” Stan looked down at the floor. “Not… not really, no.”

Beverly groaned. “Oh holy fuck, I’m such an idiot.” She put her face in her hands. “You let me go on and on about our friendship!”

“It was a nice speech,“ Stan said feebly. “Very touching.”

Beverly lifted her head and glared at him. 

* * *

After the first day of school had ended, the Losers gathered back at Bill’s house to hang out and go over who got the worst home room teacher. 

“It h-h-has to be Shapiro,” Bill insisted. “Eh-Eh-Eddie and I are sc-screwed.”

Beverly and Ben shook their heads. “Not even close,” Stan said. “The four of us are never going to survive Mr. Gray, he's a complete clown and he already has his favourite students picked out.” 

“And they’re not us,” Ben added.

“Dude, don't compare him to a clown,” Richie shuddered. “You know I have clown fear.”

“Agreed, clowns are pure evil,” Eddie said. “But Ms. Shapiro is still worse. She told me if I miss too many days of school this year, she’s gonna stick me in the remedial classes,” 

Mike shook his head. “It's days like this that make me appreciate home schooling,” he said. 

“Remedial classes?” Richie cried. “Eds, that's ridiculous. It's not _your_ fault your Mom keeps you home all the time, she can't do that! Tell your mom to go talk to her, have her put the fear of God in her cranky old ass!”

Eddie nodded. “Maybe. I'm just hoping Mom pulls me out less this year… I hate staying home. There’s nothing good on TV during the day and it’s really god damn lonely," 

“Aw, you miss us,” Richie teased, pinching Eddie’s cheek. Eddie glared at him and shoved him off. “Me the most, right?”

“Nah,” He said. “It’s Bill.”

Bill grinned, and Eddie shot finger guns at Richie, who had stopped smiling. “Clearly, now I must engage in battle with you Bill,” he said, putting on some kind of accent that no one could quite pinpoint. He held up his hands, as if to do karate.

“W-why?” Bill asked. “W-what are we battling fuh-for?”

Richie stood up, and started to karate chop the air around Bills head. Bill looked somewhat confused. “Eddie's affection, obviously. Maybe his hand in marriage, I haven't decided if I’m ready for that yet. Maybe after a few more dates,” Richie said. “Come on, let's fight to the death or something.”

Bill frowned, and Eddie put his head in his hands. Beverly and Stan exchanged a look. “Yuh-yuh-you’re dating Eddie?” Bill asked. “W-w-what?”

Richie stopped karate chopping. “Shit fuck.”

Ben’s eyes went wide, and he looked around the group, as if he would find the explanation on one of his friends faces. 

“Wait a second,” Mike said, holding up his hand. “I don't get it… Haven't you guys been dating this whole time?”

“Um, no?” Eddie said, his cheeks turning pink. “What--why would you think that? We literally just started. We had one date.”

“Huh...” Mike said thoughtfully. “But you're always flirting with each other, I just assumed.”

“There’s been no flirting! I mean I didn't… I didn't even know I was… That I liked… That I liked Richie’s.”

Richie raised his hand. “I was flirting,” He said.

Eddie looked up, shocked. “You were flirting with me? Since when?!”

Richie tapped his chin thoughtfully. “How long have we known each other?”

“Since we were ten,” Eddie responded. “You fell off the swings and puked on my shoes and then we both spent the rest of the day in the nurse’s office.” Richie had been in the nurse's office all day because of the vomiting, and Eddie because he was traumatized from being puked on.

Richie nodded. He remembered the day well. “Since we were 10,” he said.

“What?”

“That’s how long I've been flirting with you. Since we were ten.”

Eddie looked deeply troubled by this information. “Why didn't I notice?” He said quietly, more to himself than anyone else. 

“I mean, you didn't know about Bill and your Mom, either, and they've been doing it like bunnies,” Richie said. Bill looked up, offended. “Sorry, Bill, but those jokes are kind of my go-to and I can't make them about myself anymore. I'm spoken for.”

Richie took a seat next to Eddie again and put an arm around his shoulder. “Don't worry about it, Eddie-Spaghetti. You’ll learn to pick up on it after a while,” He ruffled Eddie’s hair.

Eddie pursed his lips. “Was that flirting?” He asked. Richie nodded. “Well no wonder I never fucking noticed, Richie, that's how you talk to _everyone!_ ”

Richie shrugged. “What can I say, I’m a people person.”

Eddie shook his head. “You’re lucky you’re cute, Trashmouth,” He said, flashing Richie a small smile.

Richie stared at him, his glasses slipping slightly down his nose. He opened his mouth but no words came out.

“Eddie, I think you broke him,” Stan said. “Richie, quickly, make a penis joke so we know you're alright!”

Not taking his eyes off Eddie, Richie held up the middle finger in Stan's direction.

“Yeah,” Stan said. “He'll live,” 

All in all, the rest of the losers wound up being pretty accepting. Stan and Beverly already knew and didn't care, Mike had assumed they were dating already, Ben thought it was sweet and Bill vowed not to let anyone mess with them, or give them a hard time about it (to the best of his ability). Even Bill’s little brother Georgie, who had been spying on them from the bushes, didn't seem to have any issue with it. While he thought that kissing was pretty gross, no matter who was doing it, he said he thought they made "a sweet couple," which Bill said was a phrase their mother used to describe couples she liked on television. 

After a while had passed, it was time for everyone to get going. Stan left first, and Mike shortly after. Then Ben and Beverly, and finally Richie and Eddie said their goodbyes to Bill and Georgie, and headed home. They lived in roughly the same direction, so their walk home was on the same path for a bit.

“Schools going to suck this year,” Richie said, kicking at a empty can of diet cola that someone left on the sidewalk. “I can feel it, in my bones.”

“I wouldn’t put too much into that, your bones have been wrong about lots of things before, genius,” Eddie replied. “Like, do you remember that time you thought that old movie _Young Frankenstein_ looked stupid, because it wasn’t ‘true to the original’ and then you loved it—”

“It’s pronounced, Fronk-en-steen!” Richie shouted, in a terrible Gene Wilder impression.

“And you were sure that _Who’s the Boss_ was gonna be cancelled, and it wasn’t and it still hasn’t been,” Eddie went on. “You felt that one in your bones too. And and that Marissa Shriker and Steve MacMillan were gonna break up—”  

Richie help up his hand. “Fine, fine, so you have one or two examples of times I may not have been one hundred percent correct about a few unimportant details. But about the big stuff, I’m never wrong. You’ll see.”

Eddie shook his head. “Whatever, Tozier.” He said.

They walked on in silence for a moment. Richie looked over at Eddie. “Do you want to hold hands?” Richie asked.

“Huh?”

“Hands,” Richie repeated, holding up one of his. “Want to hold ‘em?”

Eddie looked down at his palms. “I don’t know, mine are all sweaty and gross right now.”

 “Well, so are mine,” Richie replied. “We can smoosh our sweat together so it can breed and make a newer, stronger sweat, stinkier than any sweat that’s come before it.” Eddie made a face. “Or we can do this—” Richie wiped his palms against his shorts. “There, dry.”

 “Okay, I guess,” Eddie said, following Richie and wiping his hands against his shorts. “I mean, the whole ‘newer strong sweat’ thing kind of freaked me out, but what the hell,” He held out his hand to Richie who took it.

Together, they walked hand in hand down the mostly empty streets of Derry, enjoying what was likely going to be one of the last warm days of the year. There was a light breeze blowing, and the sky above had turned pink and purple with the approach of sunset. 

“I think this year won’t be so bad,” Eddie said quietly. “I mean, I don’t know… but I think it won’t be.”

 “Hmm?” Richie said, glancing over at Eddie. “What makes you say so?” 

Eddie looked over at the boy he was holding hands with, the person who had been one of his best friends and who now was growing into something more. He thought of how stupid he’d been before, to not realize what was right in front of him… and how stupid he felt holding Richie’s hand. A different kind of stupid, though. A better kind. 

“No reason,” Eddie said. “I just kind of feel it,” He grinned. “You know, in my bones.”

Richie smiled back at him, nudging him with his shoulder. “You’re making fun of me, Eds, but it’s true. Somethings you just know about.”  

Eddie nodded. That was true, he thought. Somethings you just knew, without needing reason or proof. Life was about growing, and learning new things all the time. You learned to walk and talk and feed yourself, and to do simple maths. You learned that you liked boys, and that the world might not have been as terrible as you’d thought it was. You learned all these things and more. Other things were different, more simple. You couldn’t learn them, couldn’t study for them like you could a test. You just knew.

Walking down the street holding hands with Richie Tozier, Eddie thought this was one of those things. He couldn’t explain, couldn’t have voiced it or given it a name.

When he looked at Richie… he just knew.


End file.
